


Ignore the Truth

by static_abyss



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Casual Sex, Embedded Images, Implied Harry Potter/Charlie Weasley, Implied Relationships, Infidelity (not Drarry), Jealousy, M/M, Minor Draco Malfoy/Others, Newspapers, On-Again/Off-Again Relationship, implied Harry Potter/Others
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-08
Updated: 2020-07-08
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:33:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24670882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/static_abyss/pseuds/static_abyss
Summary: "Longtime on-again-off-again lovers Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy were caught in a compromising position in one of the Ministry's lifts yesterday evening. While fans of the couple are optimistic, there's still doubt as to whether or not this particular reconciliation will last. When asked directly about the nature of his relationship with Draco Malfoy, the Boy Who Lived simply had this to say, 'Fuck right off, we're busy.'"-The Daily Prophet, "Love Is In The Air," 28th Oct. 2005.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 34
Kudos: 172
Collections: HD Wireless 2020





	Ignore the Truth

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Quicksilvermaid](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quicksilvermaid/gifts).



> Many thanks to [Lis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/M0stlyVoid/pseuds/M0stlyVoid) & [Leah](https://pineau-noir.tumblr.com/) for betaing this fic for me and for being super helpful. I also want to thank the mods for working with me when I said I wanted to claim a second prompt out of the blue. This fest has been an absolute blast. 
> 
> Song Prompt: [Dangerously by Charlie Puth](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TBXQu8ORnBQ)

This could be worse, Harry thinks. They could be having makeup sex. 

Instead, they're having angry break-up sex. Draco on his hands and knees, his head hanging between his forearms, as Harry shoves himself deeper, holding back his groans. He likes the sounds Draco makes when Harry winds his fingers into Draco's hair and pushes his head down against the mattress, the soft, choked-off, "fuck, that's good."

The flat is silent except for the sounds they're making, the moonlight casting shadows across the floor. They never turn the lights on when they do this because Harry can't bear to look at Draco, the flawless expanse of his pale skin, his lively grey eyes. It's better this way, with Draco coming undone underneath Harry, while Harry holds back, tells himself this is it. Never again. 

He falls apart with his mouth by Draco's ear, murmuring encouragement as Draco pushes back against Harry, both of them concentrating on Draco's release. Looking for that moment when Draco goes pliant and quiet. Finally. 

Then Harry pushes off Draco, rolls out of bed, and starts putting his clothes on. He makes sure to bring a towel back from the bathroom and helps Draco clean up because, despite how Harry never wishes to see Draco again, Harry's always had the suggestion of manners. 

"Goodbye," Harry says when he's dressed, cloak in hand. 

He turns once at the threshold, hates that Draco's already smirking at him, hates the too-knowing eyes.

"See you around," Draco says.

-

-

This is the last time, Harry tells himself as he makes his way past the curtain separating the antechamber from the main room of Dragon's Lair, Zabini's gay club. 

Tonight, the hanging lights blink in blue, pink, and purple in honour of bisexuals' night. Along the left wall, the bartenders stand in various states of undress, handing out drinks and flirting with patrons, sometimes both. Leather booths line the far back of the Dragon's Lair, each booth turned inwards at an angle to partially block people from view. There must be privacy spells too, because every time Harry looks over to the booths, he finds himself drifting off, his attention falling back to the packed dance floor. 

The DJ is tucked into the corner of the club, furthest from the leather booths, diagonal to the entrance. Harry knows the man is popular with these types of crowds because Zabini's patrons love a rich, beautiful man with a foreign name who came from overseas. There had been an audible hush through the crowd when Zabini had introduced the DJ. But Harry had only listened long enough to know that the DJ hadn't been the same one who Draco had been pictured with a week ago.

Harry sighs, running a hand through his hair as he makes his way past the moving bodies on the dance floor. He closes his eyes as he goes, getting lost in the movement of the people around him, the appreciative hands that run over his shoulders, bold strangers that want his attention. He shakes them all off after a moment, wanting only to feel the familiar first stirrings of arousal, letting the images of other hands come to the forefront.

He's here again, and it disgusts him how easy it is to get dragged back. To get lost in the memories of when he was last here with Draco, how they'd moved together, how they'd left early, out the back to avoid the cameras.

But as Harry makes his way to the bar, he tells himself that he can't do it again, can't let articles about Draco's favourite bar dictate what Harry's going to do on a Saturday night. He's exhausted by the time the bartender, Keaton, leans over the counter and gives Harry a pointed once-over.

"Harry Potter," he says, his words slow and his smile suggestive. "What can I do for you?"

Harry allows the look, lets himself lean forward until he's speaking into Keaton's ear. "I'm in the mood for something new," he says, using the excuse of the music to lean closer. "What do you recommend?"

He's laying it on too thick, he knows this. He knows exactly what Draco will think when he sees Harry, knows that Draco won't care. It never matters to Draco, not unless Harry's pictured with Ginny or Luna, or any of the thousands of women and men Hermione and Ron keep setting him up with. Draco doesn't care about a bartender at Dragon's Lair, or about the people who send Harry interested looks from around the club.

Harry could fuck any of these people right there on the dancefloor and Draco wouldn't even blink. Not that he'd notice, Harry thinks bitterly as he downs his firewhiskey. Not when Draco's taken with his latest conquest, Avery Hawksworth, the ex-Captain of the English National Quidditch team. The man is beautiful, dark skin and brilliant brown eyes. He's eight years older than Draco, already greying at the temples, with a smile that lights up a room. He's boisterous and masculine, easy to laugh, exactly the kind of person Draco goes for.

Harry saw the articles from the day before, saw blurry pictures of Hawksworth with Draco on his lap in one of the leather booths in the back. He read about the other ex-Quidditch player, one of the coaches for the new recruits, a muscular blond, large everywhere, who had left right after Draco and Hawksworth. It doesn't take much imagination to figure out what happened next.

Harry sighs as he turns back to his drink. He thinks he sees a Prophet reporter in the crowd and he can already imagine the articles tomorrow. "Heartbroken Potter Pining for Ex-Boyfriend Draco Malfoy." 

They've been on-and-off for the last two years and the headlines have all been the same. Article after article with both of them pictured with different people, insinuations of affairs interspersed with wedding plans. All of it a gross oversimplification of what's really going on between them. 

Nothing so mundane as a relationship has ever been on the table for him and Draco. And still, here Harry is chasing after Draco when he said he wouldn't. Always coming back, always waiting for Draco to look his way until Hermione finds a new person for Harry to date and Draco comes back. 

Harry downs his whiskey. 

He glances at the leather booths in the back and catches sight of Draco's blond head resting against Hawksworth's shoulder. There's only enough time for Harry to take in the closeness between the two of them, just enough time for Draco to turn, for his eyes to land on Harry. Then the privacy spell Zabini's put on the booths kicks in and Harry finds his attention drifting back to the dancefloor, to the mass of dancing bodies. He imagines being surrounded on all sides, how he's always enjoyed the feel of a crowd taking him. 

He waves his hand and Keaton the bartender places another firewhiskey in front of him. Harry downs it and stands.

He's had enough for tonight.

-

-

Draco digs his fingers into Harry's hair, his nails scraping down the back of Harry's head until he gets a good handful and pulls. Harry's furious again, but it's not enough to stop himself from shoving Draco against the exposed brick of his living room. 

Harry's not supposed to be here with his hands on Draco, their kisses getting sloppy and rough. Harry's supposed to be having dinner with Charlie. But Draco had been waiting outside of the restaurant, and all he'd done was give Harry a look and Harry had followed him. He'd barely gotten a chance to send Charlie a message apologizing for missing dinner before Draco had Apparated them away to Harry's flat.

That they'd ended up at Harry's place was deliberate because all of Draco's actions are planned and replanned. They were at Harry's because if Charlie was upset that's where he'd go, and that's where he'd find Harry with his cock in Draco's mouth. Not that Harry's actually dating Charlie Weasley, or that Charlie would care enough about being stood up to come looking for him. It's nothing like that, but Harry isn't going to correct Draco. Especially not now.

"Come on," Draco says, pulling off of Harry and looking up at him.

Harry's angry, can still picture Draco with his head on Hawksworth's shoulder, the blurred Prophet photos that showed Draco all over him. Harry looks down at Draco, at his swollen, red mouth and his half-lidded grey eyes. He's shaking, just enough that if Harry didn't know him, he wouldn't be able to tell.

"No," Harry says, stepping back.

He knows he's caught Draco by surprise and the way Draco sways forward even as Harry steps out of his way unfurls a wave of desire down Harry's back. He steps away further until he can sit on his leather armchair. Harry thinks of Zabini's leather booths and Draco's mouth, and he'd promised himself never again, but here he is. 

"Come here," Harry says.

He lets his legs fall open as he leans back more comfortably into the chair. He knows what he looks like, messy hair and bored green eyes. Disinterested in whatever Draco wants to give him, in control. They have their own games and Harry can't pretend like he hasn't enjoyed playing them over the years. 

"Come here, Draco," Harry says again.

Draco stands and walks over just far enough to get within reaching distance of Harry. He gets on his knees, slowly, deliberately, reaches out to slide his hands up Harry's thighs. Harry says nothing as Draco gets his hand on Harry's cock. He strokes once and at Harry's look, puts his hands behind his back. He lowers his head, waits patiently as Harry pushes his fingers through Draco's hair.

Harry likes him easy, likes him pliant and willing, trembling in anticipation, waiting for Harry to guide him. 

"Down," Harry says, and Draco ducks his head.

Draco's mouth is hot and wet, the slide smooth and so good that Harry has to throw his head back just to get through the first few minutes. It's been so long since Draco was this quiet, this willing to follow directions. And as Draco groans around Harry's cock, it occurs to Harry that there must be a reason why Draco's being so amenable. 

He thinks of Hawksworth, of the things Draco must have done with him, how much Draco must have enjoyed it to be so indulgent with Harry. The thoughts spark a renewed sense of fury and Harry tightens his hold on Draco's hair, pulls enough to make it hurt, just enough that Draco's groans get louder. He's trembling and Harry knows that for now at least, Draco's not thinking about anyone but him.

But it's not enough and Harry knows it, can feel the knowledge of being second best settling into his bones. He tightens his hold on Draco's hair and pushes him off. Draco lies back on the floor and watches, his mouth open, as Harry starts pulling his shirt off. 

There's no finesse, no moment to catch their breath as Harry strips and Draco catches on. He scrambles to his feet, tugging his clothes off.

"Table or couch?" Draco asks, breathlessly. 

Harry's breathing just as hard, his hands shaking. He can feel his muscles tensing in anticipation, the warmth low in his belly as he watches Draco throwing his things all over Harry's living room. 

They don't pick the table or the couch. Harry strips and sits back on the leather armchair, his legs open, elbows on the armrests. He doesn't have to say anything, doesn't have to do more than tilt his head back before Draco's climbing on top of him. 

Harry closes his eyes as Draco sinks onto his cock, tries to will away the images of Draco's legs around Hawksworth. It does no good to linger on these things. Neither of them owes the other anything. So Harry gets his arms around Draco to pull him closer, just enough that Harry can press their bodies together, enough so that the next time Draco sinks onto Harry's cock, Harry can push back, can punch out those broken-off groans from Draco.

"Come on," Draco says, his mouth by Harry's ear. "Harder."

Harry leans forward and pushes harder, faster, until Draco's shaking in his arms again. Draco throws an arm around Harry's shoulder to pull him closer so he can bite at Harry's mouth, so when Draco comes Harry can bury his face in Draco's neck. Easy, quick, good. Nothing more than a means for release, a moment where Harry can let go. 

And then it's over. 

Draco puts on his clothes and fusses with his hair. There's a moment after Draco's found his shirt where Harry thinks Draco's going to say something, but he doesn't. This is more of the same, just a repeat of all the other times they've exchanged fleeting looks, too many pauses, not enough effort on either of their part. Then Draco turns and heads out of the living room, the closing door marking his departure. 

It's just Harry now, naked and sated, sitting on a leather armchair. Harry finds that he can't be bothered with moving, doesn't even care that he's probably staining his favourite chair. 

In the end, he's angrier at himself than he is at Draco. Annoyed that all Draco has to do is bat his eyes and Harry will do whatever he wants. Because fuck that, he thinks viciously. 

Fuck it all to hell.

-

-

"Are you leaving me?" Harry asks, and he wishes he didn't sound so goddamn needy.

It's always him, always Harry laying himself open so Draco can do what he wants. It's too much, all the back and forth, the casually dismissive gestures, the way Draco will go about his life like he doesn't give a single fuck what happens to Harry. They're not good for each other. They've never been anything but a mess of emotions waiting to explode, messy and uncoordinated lives, trying their best to match and failing.

Harry hates it all, hates the way Draco lives under his skin, hates how much Harry wants him. He can't stand the idea of Draco leaving again, of knowing that when he walks out that door, it'll be exactly like the last time. Draco will go, and Harry will find someone to fuck until he stops thinking of Draco's mouth and his hands, of the way he sucks Harry off like he can't get enough. 

It'll work for a while until Draco ends up in the front page of the Prophet, sitting on some strange bloke's lap, or hiding behind darkened booths with anonymous men who all look a bit like Harry in one way or another. Then Harry will accidentally run into Draco and Draco will just happen to be free at the time, and they'll come back to Harry's to catch up. They'll talk. They'll fuck. And either Draco will stay, or he'll go, and the whole damn thing will start all over again. 

Harry's done. He has to be done. 

"Stay," Harry says, and even he can hear how defeated he sounds.

"You don't mean that," Draco says, adjusting his hair in the bathroom mirror.

Harry wishes he could actually hate Draco, wishes there was a way to get rid of the all-consuming hunger that lives within him. But he says nothing, does nothing as Draco walks out of the bathroom. He stops long enough to give Harry a quick kiss, lingers enough that Harry can feel heat crawl up his spine.

Then, Draco pulls away, says, "See you around, Harry," and just like that, he's gone.

-

**Author's Note:**

> 🎵 This work is part of H/D Wireless, a song inspired, anon, Drarry fest with its home on tumblr! 
> 
> If you enjoyed this, shower our content creators with all the love you have to give by leaving kudos ❤️ and comments 💌 on their work!
> 
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